Young Frank turned red all over.
“Why, how do you know?” he said, “and how did you find me out, here in the forest? Chisholm, you’re a wizard, or something worse.”
“Been to your father’s house, dear boy,” replied Chisholm, explaining. “Splendid fellow, your father, by the way. Enjoyed some rare sport and fun—but missed you sadly, you may be sure; but your father told me everything. ‘My young rascal,’—these are his very words, Frank—‘my young rascal,’ he said, ‘has fallen in love, and wants to marry right away; of course I couldn’t give my consent, because he is only a boy, you know, so he went into a pet, and has taken lodgings somewhere on the borders of Epping Forest, under the pretence of reading.’ And that, Frank, was the only clue to your whereabouts that I could get; but you see I’ve found you, my boy. And now tell me all about it.”
“A most modest request, I do declare,” said Frank, with a smile; “but never mind, I never did have a secret from you, and it may do me good to unburden my mind.”
“That it will,” said Chisholm; “but before you begin just pitch Byron at that ugly toad there, will you?”
“That I certainly won’t; he has been my only companion for weeks.”
“Well, well, well,” said Chisholm, “buried in the depths of Epping Forest, his only companion a toad, the once gay and jolly Frank Willoughby. Why you must be deeply in love.”
“I am, and that is a fact, and if you only saw the object of my affections, I do not think you would wonder much. She is—”
“Now Frank, dear boy,” Chisholm said, “I must apologise for interrupting you; but pray do not begin to dilate on the charms of your fair enslaver. I know she must be everything that is good and beautiful, else she never could have captivated you. Just tell me how it happened, and where it happened.”